


Country Roads

by Daenarii



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Hanzo is a ghost, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, So have fun!, basically jesse is a ghost hunter, can i make it any more obvious, except for ana who's only mentioned, graphic violence warning for now bc i'm not SURE how later scenes will play out, mainly revolves around jesse and hanzo but the others DO show up, no post schedule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-04-23 23:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19161163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daenarii/pseuds/Daenarii
Summary: Jesse McCree has been away from the town of Ravensbeak for too long. When he gets a letter requesting his protection from the supernatural beings of the other world, he finds himself saddled with an unwilling and unlikely partner, a demon general, and several opportunities for justice. What Jesse hoped would be a straightforward series of jobs makes him feel a lot more than he bargained for.





	1. Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to my friend rook (rookwind on ao3, arcaneexplosion on tumblr) for betaing!!

The fog is the one thing Jesse didn’t miss.

He missed the worn dirt road, winding up through hills and trees. He missed the cooler climate, growing chillier as he made his way up the path. He even missed all the critters, rustling in the underbrush and spooking the daylights out of him.

But the all-encompassing fog, thick and opaque and limiting his vision to a few feet ahead of him? The shit that’s there every day, every night, every season? The cold and wet that accompanies it? He _didn’t_ miss that, not one bit.

Still, he feels an almost overwhelming sense of homecoming with every bend of the road. He feels as if every tree here is intimate and friendly, every stone waiting to welcome him back, every rabbit jumping across his path just to say hello. He knows it’s fanciful thinking, but still. It’s been a while since he was in Ravensbeak last -- five years? Ten? He feels guilty for waiting so long, and for only coming back under these circumstances.

He lifts a gloved hand to press against the letter, safe against his heart in a breast pocket. It’s from Mr. Lindholm, the innkeeper that a younger Jesse worked for. Jesse hasn’t quite memorized the letter’s words, but he knows the message; hastily-written and stained in a few places, it only says that he needs to return to Ravensbeak soon, because it’s got a whole mess of supernatural problems and nobody to solve them.

There’s only one reason Jesse would’ve gotten this letter. Not because he’s a bad hunter -- he was trained by the best, after all -- but because Ravensbeak already _has_ a defender. Or, well...it did, last Jesse checked. He should’ve checked more often, but the guardian angel of Ravensbeak -- Ana Amari -- is _the best_. He didn’t think he had to check in on her. She’s undefeatable; shrewd and detail-oriented and tough and a whole lot of other things Jesse doesn’t have the words for.

Or, well...she _was_ , anyway. Probably. Jesse knows Amari, knows she would’ve rather keeled over than live a restful day in her whole life. She’s just one of those people -- can’t stay away from trouble. She’d explain it as helping people, though; that’s what she can’t stay away from. Jesse thinks that’s why she took him in when he was eleven years old with nowhere to go, why she taught him everything he knows. He admires that selflessness.

 _Admired_. Shit, that’s gonna be tough to get used to; it’s been a few weeks since Jesse put it all together, and he’s still thinking like she’s alive. Well -- she might be. Mr. Lindholm never _said_ she was dead, just that Ravensbeak needs a new defender. Maybe Amari just can’t do anything? Jesse isn’t sure which is worse. He needs to stop thinking about this.

He instead considers his plans for when he finally gets to Ravensbeak. He should be coming up on it soon; he’ll need to drop by Mr. Lindholm’s first, see if he can barter a room for the night. Then hopefully he’ll be able to get some shut-eye before he has to actually _do_ anything. He’s exhausted; he’s been traveling nonstop since he got the letter three weeks ago. He’d been a decent distance away, skirting the edges of the war and taking care of various hauntings and ghosts when a courier rode up. She complained about how difficult Jesse was to find, so he gave her a tip.

That feels like it was yesterday. Jesse thinks he’s walking in a foggy, fuzzy dream, and at any moment he’ll look down to discover he forgot his pants, or his teeth will start falling out of his head, or werewolves will be howling on their way behind him, or something.

But nothing happens. He turns a final bend, and lets out a quiet breath when he sees warm lights shining merrily through the fog. Jesse quickens his step, eager to see how everything has changed.

Nothing _has_ changed, of course. As soon as Jesse looks at the front stoop of the first house -- the Wilhelms’, with height markers notched right next to the doorway and a worn wooden bench on the side -- he knows he shouldn’t have expected much to be different. It just feels like since _his_ world has been stirred up, so should theirs.

But, of course, they’re not. Every house looks the same as it did last time Jesse was here. The only thing that’s changed about Mr. Lindholm’s inn is that he re-did the sign; now the name of the joint, Ingrid’s Inn, is shiny and new and distinct against the dark wood of the sign. As Jesse steps up the stairs of the porch, he snorts when he realizes they still creak under his boots in the same places.

Even the inside is still the same, Jesse confirms once he presses open the door. He’s blasted in the face with warmth emanating from the roaring fireplace right next to the door. He isn’t sure what time of night it is, but definitely not rush hour; there are only a few stragglers at the tables, pairs speaking in whispers or singles staring down into a mug. Mr. Lindholm is right where he usually is, though, up at the bar, a book open in front of him.

“Jesse!” Mr. Lindholm shouts once Jesse looks at him. He hasn’t changed, either; his voice is brassy, his face split by a grin. His bushy yellow beard and eyebrows almost overtake his face entirely, and his right eye is covered by an eyepatch.

“Hey, Mr. Lindholm,” Jesse says, easy grin on his face as he saunters over to the bar. “Got’chyer letter. How’s business?”

Mr. Lindholm shrugs a beefy shoulder. “It could be better,” he admits. “With all th’ hauntings, nobody’s visiting much anymore. Everyone has been shut inside.”

“Can’t say I blame ‘em,” Jesse says. “But don’t worry. I’ll start fixin’ the town up, ‘n’ everythin’ here’ll be right as rain.”

Mr. Lindholm nods. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Now -- ye didn’t come all this way to talk to _me_ , did you?”

Jesse nods. “I did,” he says. “I’m lookin’ for a room.”

Mr. Lindholm snorts before he says, “Well, stay at Ana’s. She’d cook me alive if she knew ye _paid_ to stay here. Besides--” Mr. Lindholm digs in a pocket, face contorting for a moment before he emerges with a small key, shiny and worn. “Here -- she gave this t’me fer you.” He offers the key to Jesse.

Jesse blinks at the key. “Uh,” he says. “That’s her house key, innit?” He hesitates before he takes it, staring at it in his gloved palm. “Why d’ _you_ have this? Ain’t Fareeha in town?”

“Ye know Fareeha’s fightin’ in th’war,” Mr. Lindholm says. “House is all yers.”

“Well, yeah, but -- Amari just died.” Jesse frowns, looking up at Mr. Lindholm. “She’d at least _visit_ , make sure everythin’s goin’ smooth.”

Mr. Lindholm’s brow furrows. “Nobody told ya?” he asks. “Ana’s been dead fer two years.”

“ _What_?” Jesse blinks, opens his mouth, closes it again. Two years? What was he doing? Why didn’t anyone tell him? He feels the distinct claws of guilt sink into the back of his throat. “What -- whaddya mean, _two years_? Y’didn’t think t’send a letter _sooner_?”

“No,” Mr. Lindholm says. “Fareeha said she sent somethin’. When ye didn’t stop by, I assumed ye were grievin’. In yer own way, o’course.”

“I never got--” Jesse stops, disbelief clogging his throat. It probably got lost; he could be hard to find, he knew, but -- he should’ve known something was up. He should’ve visited sooner. He should’ve--

He turns around, lifting a hand to grab his hat off his head as he curls his hand tightly around the key. The claws in his throat press deeper, making him taste metal. He can’t believe he didn’t know the woman who basically raised him has been dead for two years. What must the town think of him? Mr. Lindholm seems fine, but Jesse isn’t as adjusted. He _feels_ \-- like some ingrate orphan that took advantage of Amari’s kindness and left as soon as he could.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice cracking, as he tries to bring his mind back to the task at hand. He huffs again and looks back down at the key, its bronze teeth peeking and glinting from between his fingers. “Did -- did’ya keep this key in yer pocket for two damn years?”

“Well, o’course I did,” Mr. Lindholm says. “Where else was I gonna find it if ye suddenly popped up?”

Jesse shakes his head. “S’pose I’m glad y’did, then,” he mutters. He turns back to Mr. Lindholm, trying to drum up some good, old-fashioned, fake politeness. He strains a smile as he says. “Guess I should get goin’, see how th’old place is holdin’ up. Thanks for the info, Mr. Lindholm.”

“O’course, Jesse,” Mr. Lindholm says. His voice softens as he says, “I know y’cared a lot fer Ana. If ye ever need some company, my door’s always open.”

Jesse nods at Mr. Lindholm. “Thanks,” he says. “I ‘preciate it.” He gives Mr. Lindholm one last tight-lipped smile and wave before he turns to make his way out of the blistering inn.

The slam of colder outside air into his face grounds Jesse, if only for a moment. He manages to walk down the steps of the inn and get onto the road again before he has to stop with the feeling of a punch to his heart.

Amari is dead. Not even recently dead, where Jesse could still question and hope -- she’s been gone for a while. If it’s been years, she won’t be coming back. She would’ve been here sooner if she was still alive. She’s well and truly gone -- and he hadn’t even gotten to send her off, or see her body to rest, or offer help to Fareeha. He needs to send her a letter -- something, to apologize. He can only hope she’ll accept it.

“Shit,” Jesse mutters, finally beginning the trek to Amari’s -- _his_ \-- house. He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or glad that he doesn’t have to think about the way, the path familiar to his feet. It gives his time to think about the situation.

He digs into a pocket as he tries to decide whether that’s a good or a bad thing. His hand emerges with a small silver cigarillo holder; he flips open the lid of it to pull one out, bringing it to his lips with practiced movements as he closes the holder and shoves it back into his pocket. He pulls a matchbook out of another pocket, lights a match, uses it to begin burning the end of his cigarillo. He takes a few puffs on it as he replaces the matchbook, tension releasing as the smoke fills his lungs.

The house is a ways away from the town proper, and nothing helps Jesse’s head clear the thoughts swirling stormlike in it; not the lengthy distance, not the fog, not the cigarillo. All he can think of is what he could’ve done differently, how many times he could’ve visited Ravensbeak in the last two years, how many times he should’ve just gone and visited Fareeha like he’d been tempted to do.

The house is dark in the mist when Jesse walks up. Of course it is -- it hasn’t been lived in for two years at the very least. Jesse doesn’t like it; when he was young, it was always lit up, calling him home from a day’s work, giving him an easy destination to walk to in the darkened woods.

Luckily, Jesse isn’t a kid anymore. He stands outside the porch as he finishes his cigarillo; Amari would tan his hide if she caught him smoking inside, he knows. The woods are alive with the sound of critters -- crickets chirping, owls hooting. Something makes the hairs on Jesse’s arm stand up, though; he looks around, the back of his neck crawling with the sensation of being watched.

Ugh, that’d just be his luck -- Amari’s house getting haunted. Wouldn’t that be the damn cherry on top? Jesse extinguishes his cigarillo by pinching the end between two metallic fingers, sliding it into his pocket -- Amari'd tan his hide for littering her porch with cigarette butts, too.

No use getting spooked by ghosts before he's seen them; he should check out the situation first. The steps creak loudly when he steps up the porch, but that's nothing new. He has to jiggle the key in the lock and pull on the door handle to open it, but that's not new, either. The door swings open of its own volition, but again, it's always had a mind of its own.

Jesse can't see anything in the dim light provided by the windows and open door, save for the gleaming of the moon on glass bottles. He huffs, his gaze zeroing in on an extinguished lantern that's sitting innocently on the corner of a table. He makes his way over to it, footsteps heavy on the worn wooden floor. He lights the lantern using one of his matches, then glances around his surroundings.

It's still cluttered as hell. There's a bookshelf in the far wall, every shelf lined with vials of varying sizes and colors and volumes and materials. The lower shelves have ingredients with no protective bottles, too -- just eggs and roots and insect wings carefully shoved between glass. There's another bookshelf next to that one, filled to the brim with books. They're as varied as the ingredients -- different sizes, colors, widths. There's not an empty spot in that bookshelf, and the weight of the tomes makes the shelves sag.

The table that Jesse is standing at is covered, too. There are books, pencils, inkwells, quills scattered around its surface. Everything has a thick layer of dust on it. He gives a huff at the state of things, and a cloud of dust puffs up in front of him.

Against the other wall is a sitting area, small and modest. A cushioned two-seater sofa, an end table next to it, a plush and frayed rug underneath. The wall opposite the seating area has a narrow archway, which Jesse can see the counters of the kitchen through. Next to the bookshelf set into the wall is a skinny door, the paint on it chipped; that leads to the bathroom, he knows, which he doesn't even want to attempt to look at. And then there are the narrow stairs next to that, leading up to a dark landing.

Jesse makes his way up the rickety stairs. As a kid, he'd had no trouble racing up and down these steps; now, his shoulders are broad enough to nearly brush against the walls on both his sides, and his feet are almost too long to rest comfortably on the steps. The wood creaks under his form with each movement -- at least people won't be sneaking up on him.

The stairs let out on a dark and small hallway. It's lit up by the window at the end, but the light of the lantern doesn't reach this far. Jesse feels like a ghost as he makes his way to his old bedroom.

The door is ajar, and he can still see the pinpricked holes in the wood where he'd pinned notices -- shit like _no Fareehas allowed_ , or _no-chore zone_. He'd taken them down when he'd left, to let Amari know she was free to use the room as she wished. He nudges the door, and it swings open. He feels like he's holding his breath to see the other side, but he can't imagine why.

It's exactly the same as it was when he left. It's smaller, though -- he has to duck his head to get through the doorway, and he barely has enough room to shimmy in past the foot of the bed and the edge of the desk. Things are still pinned to the walls -- leaves, feathers, scraps of paper with chicken-scratch writing or rough sketches. Jesse traces a finger down the ancient sketch of a wolf mid-howl -- something Amari gave him.

Even the bed is still unmade, the messy blanket dusty from disuse. She must not have stepped foot in here, or she would've straightened that bed in a heartbeat. He lets out a shaky breath as he moves to peer out the window.

Same creepy-ass view, he muses; the woods beyond the small gated garden are dark and foggy. The mist seems thicker between the trees. He can see the beginnings of the small trail that leads to a lake farther up the mountain, but he gets the feeling nobody's used the path in ages.

His analysis is interrupted by an earshaking yawn. Jesse tries to shake it off as he looks back at his bed, then frowns. He can't sleep in that tonight -- it's more dust than bedding now. Besides, he has to finish checking the house for ghosts; he'll just set up shop on the couch downstairs once he's satisfied.

Fareeha's room -- across the hall from Jesse's -- is markedly different. The dust covering its furniture is thinner than in the rest of the house, the bed is neatly made, and any embellishments are gone. She definitely stayed here after Amari's death. He doesn’t snoop in that room for long; it’s clear of any spirits, and his skin crawls with the sensation of being somewhere he shouldn’t.

Jesse stares at Amari's bedroom door, unable to bring himself to open it. As a kid, it'd been sort of a no-entry zone -- not because Amari would've minded, but because...that was her space. She accepted Jesse into her home; he didn't wanna overstep, and he figured she deserved her own private corner.

But he has to investigate now. He inhales deeply before he slowly opens the door, not bothering to step into the room. Once he can see into it, he inhales sharply.

It's almost like Fareeha's was -- neat and tidy, with only a thin covering of dust. Fareeha must have looked through it herself, then. Jesse feels a surge of anger at that thought, but he stamps it out under his boot. She was right to do it. He just wishes he'd been there.

Jesse reaches up to rub at his face when he feels something tickle at his beard. When his glove pulls away wet, he realizes he's crying. He huffs a little at himself, shaking his head, before he steps back and gently pulls the door shut. The only ghosts in there are the ones in his head.

After that, he makes his way back down the rickety staircase, chest hollow. He extinguishes the lamp before he strips to his underclothes (including his prosthetic, which he sets carefully on the clothes) and curls up best he can on the too-small couch.

With the dust making him sneeze every two minutes and the memories of Amari jumping out at him, it takes Jesse a long time to fall into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

Jesse wakes with a stretch, and that's his first mistake of the day. His joints burn and ache from being locked in the same position for hours, his spine feels permanently curved, and he can't turn his face to the left without getting stabbed in the neck.

Jesse grumbles as he slowly sits up, massaging the pained muscle of his neck firmly. The early morning sun filters through the windows and turns everything gold. Birds sing outside. The sky is blue past the window, with only wisps of clouds -- it looks like a beautiful day.

His eyelids weigh a thousand tons, and he needs some goddamn coffee. Why is he awake so early? He normally isn't up until noon -- though his sleeping schedule _has_ been very off-kilter in the last few weeks.

Jesse yawns as he stands, fingers scratching at his soft and hairy lower belly. He makes his way drowsily to the kitchen, and only narrowly avoids bodyslamming the table on the way there.

The kitchen is spotless -- if he ignores the dust. Jesse does his best to stir up as much of the stuff as possible as he pulls out a mug, then bangs through the cabinets on his quest for coffee.

"C'mon, Pharah," he groans as he opens a third empty cupboard. "Y'couldn't'a left me _one_ bag?" Even the damn pantry is empty. Fareeha is nothing if not meticulous, and Jesse love-hates her for it.

Jesse grabs his mug to stare forlornly at it and contemplate on what to do. How else is he gonna wake up without his early caffeine hit? His musing is interrupted by a knock at the door, though, and he sighs before he sets down the mug and makes his way to the door.

"Yeah?" Jesse asks as he pulls it open.

There's a man on the other side, a bushy salt-and-pepper moustache covering his upper lip. His clothes are covered in dirt, as if he'd just come from the mine. He gives a low whistle. "Well, I'll be. It's really you."

Jesse nods. "In the flesh."

"'N' not much else," the man says with a grin.

Jesse blinks, glancing back down at his mostly-nude self. "Ah, shit. Yeah, sorry -- jus' woke up." He meets the man's gaze again. "Need somethin'?"

The man nods, sobering up. "My house's right haunted. Furniture's movin', doors're openin', 'n' at night, we can hear screamin'. Front door hits me every time I walk through, too, like it wants me gone 'n' to stay gone. Was hopin' y'could help."

Jesse nods. "That I can. Lemme jus' get my gear -- I'll meet'cha at yer house." He then furrows his brow. "You new in town?"

The man nods. "Yessir; me 'n' mine just moved in a year or so ago. Live down the road, just at the edge of town."

"Next to the Wilhelms?"

The man nods. "Yep, that's us. Name’s Cole Steelflint."

Jesse nods at him. "Jesse McCree,” he says. “Nice to meet’cha. I’ll be there soon," he says before he shuts the door.

He gives a long sigh as he presses his forehead to the wooden frame. No coffee, _and_ he's starting right off with a haunting? Today is already looking unbearably long.

 

As far as hauntings go, this one is pretty textbook -- Jesse can tell as soon as he walks in through the front door. The family is waiting outside at Jesse's behest, so it's just him and the spirit.

"Hey, fella," Jesse calls to the empty air. The ghost can hear him -- he can tell through the way chills run down his spine, the way the hairs on his forearms raise. "Gonna ask ya once, real polite: leave this family alone, or we're gonna have problems."

There's silence for a moment, and Jesse thinks the polite route might have worked -- until a chill racks his frame, and a nearby door bangs angrily.

"Alright," Jesse grumbles. "Hard way it is."

Based on the information -- new family, thrown furniture, opening and closing doors -- Jesse is dealing with a ghost who just isn't ready to let their house go, and is pissed that someone else is living in it. Cases like this are the majority of what Jesse deals with, which he's grateful for; he just needs to find what the ghost is tied to, and he'll be done. The ghost should be more than willing to help with that.

"Y'know," Jesse drawls as he makes his way slowly through the rooms of the house, "they're a nice family. Two parents, gorgeous kids. Yer house _could_ do worse." That doesn't garner a response, so Jesse moves to the next room.

"Dad's a miner, you know. Works hard to provide," Jesse continues. No response. He moves to the next room.

"He just wants th'best for his family, I reckon," he says. "Jus' like you 'n' this house, huh? Y'think _you're_ the best this place is ever gonna get?"

A chair scoots angrily towards Jesse. He manages to catch it before it rams into him, and he resists the urge to grin as he closely analyzes the room he's in. The master bedroom, by the looks of it; a large bed is in the middle, along with an armoire, a mirror, and a desk. Whatever's holding the spirit back is in here.

"Y'know, bud, I wonder what _you_ were like in life," Jesse continues. "What did this house look like when you were here?" He steps over to the bed. "Didja have th'bed in the middle, like this?" He waits, then moves instead to the desk. "What about this desk? Was this--"

He cuts off as a nearby mug is chucked at his head. He manages to avoid it, but the poor wall earns a new, coffee-colored stain. Jesse _does_ grin at that as he looks down at the desk.

He opens a drawer, and lifts a brow when he sees a tarnished and rusty silver chain, lying there as if chucked there and forgotten. The other drawers are all empty -- must be the chain, then.

Jesse's suspicions are confirmed when he picks up the chain and the bedframe rattles loudly, as if it's a wet dog trying to shake off some water.

"Hey, I warned ya, hun," Jesse shrugs as he walks to the kitchen, silver chain curled in one hand. "I said to leave 'em alone, 'n' you said no. 'S not _my_ fault you don't like the consequences."

As he speaks, Jesse scours cabinets for a mug. When he finds one, he wastes little time in dropping the chain into it and pulling out a silver flask. He unscrews the cap and begins to pour the liquid -- holy water -- into the mug as well.

The ghost has something to say about this. The cabinets flutter open and shut loudly. Jesse curses when one bangs into his shin, but he ignores it to keep on with his task. The couch rattles, and he winces when he hears a distant, drawn-out, distraught scream.

"Calm th'fuck down," Jesse grumbles before he fits the palm of his prosthetic over the mug.

He closes his eyes and murmurs a short phrase, the words of incantation heavy on his tongue. The warmth of a fire washes down his shoulder as an orange glow burns from behind his closed lids, but he keeps them shut until the ghost's rattling has stopped. Jesse murmurs the spell again, and the orange glow dissipates before he opens his eyes again.

He glances into the mug and nods, satisfied. The chain melted -- it's now just silver gunk floating at the bottom of the mug, bits of rust hovering on the surface of the liquid. His hackles lower, and he doesn't feel any chills running down his spine -- the ghost is gone.

Jesse steps outside with the mug in his hand. Cole Steelflint meets him halfway, eyes worried as he glances between Jesse and the house.

"Ghost's taken care of," Jesse says, giving him a grin. He lifts the mug. "Mind if I take this?"

Cole blinks, relief sagging his shoulders. "Go -- go right ahead," he stutters. "I dunno how else we can possibly thank ya -- that thing was terrifyin', 'specially at night."

Jesse nods. "No problem. 'S what I'm here for. If somethin' else happens, y'know where t'find me, huh?"

Cole nods vigorously. "Yeah! I'm glad yer here, Mister McCree. Lots'a stuff's been happenin' lately -- ’specially up on the mountain. It'll be good t'have someone who can take care of it."

Jesse nods. "Just Jesse's fine," he says, then furrows his brow. "What's goin' on on th'mountain?"

Cole shakes his head. "Nothin' big, jus’ repetitive. There’s a shack -- local kids got a dare to see if they can last the night in it. My daughter got caught up in it right when we got here, 'n' after she went, she came knockin' on th'front door in th'middle o' th'night, cryin' 'bout flyin' furniture and angry yellin'. She wasn't hurt none, but…."

Jesse nods as he files away the information. "Thanks for tellin' me," he says. "I'll check it out when I get the opportunity."

Cole nods and gives a grin. "Sure. Thanks again -- Jesse."

Jesse returns the smile. "Don't mention it. Have a good day."

The man returns the sentiment before Jesse walks away, down the dirt road that leads further into town. He dumps the silver-water mixture in a bush off the path, then smashes the mug against a tree for good measure.

He might be exhausted, he might have a rat’s nest of spirits to clean out in Ravensbeak, Amari might be gone, but it's good to be home.


	2. Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to rook (rookwind on ao3, arcaneexplosion on tumblr) for being my beta!! ♥♥♥

Jesse knew he would be busy on his return to Ravensbeak, but he had no idea _how_ busy.

The first week after he’s home is filled to the brim with hunting. Jesse barely has enough time to sleep -- if he gets the chance to. He’s no stranger to someone pounding on his door in the dead of night and asking for his assistance with a monster that’s just popped up. He’s always happy to help, but he just wishes people would try to hail him down during the daylight hours instead.

None of the jobs are particularly difficult. Ravensbeak is a simple town with simple folk; nobody’s _trying_ to summon anything dangerous -- for the most part. It’s just unfortunate circumstance that leads to hauntings or supernatural beings coming to “visit.” Most of the monsters are content to just leave as soon as they see Jesse, and the ones that stay aren’t powerful enough to cause much of an issue besides a scratch or a bruise.

But Ravensbeak is nothing if not a hotspot for supernatural activity; it feels like as soon as Jesse deals with one haunting or gnome, three more pop up to take its place. That’s nothing out of the ordinary, though; Amari might have been a pro, but even pros can’t really prevent things like that. Ravensbeak has been a magnet for supernatural beings for as long as Jesse can remember. It’s almost comforting that it hasn’t changed.

Less comforting is Jesse’s living situation. Even a week after his arrival, he’s still handling everything in Amari’s house like he’s an unwelcome guest. He cleans the mugs as soon as he’s done with them, he’s taken to tidying the living room and _keeping_ it tidy, and he’s started removing any signs of his childhood from his old bedroom. He’s never been a neat guy before, but…he knows Amari would approve if she could see him, would find peace in the fact that he’s taking care of her house in her absence.

Even though he knows it’s _his_ house now. He knows he can rearrange it to his liking, can move rooms if he wants, can _landscape_ should the craving hit. But _knowing_ something is okay to do and _feeling_ okay to do it are two entirely different worlds, and Jesse hasn’t reconciled them in his head yet. He’s even having trouble changing his own damn room, and that was the one place he’d had jurisdiction over even as a kid.

He makes sure to keep the back garden in check, though. That garden was Amari’s pride and joy; seeing it overgrown with weeds and cluttered with brown leaves damn near broke his heart. He decided to take it upon himself to keep it up himself; he’s never been much of a gardener, but Amari has such detailed notes about the shit in the garden that it’s easy to piece together. It’s hard to find the time he wants to devote to the plants back there, but it lifts his spirits a little to see that they’re looking a bit happier after a week of his attention.

Besides that, he manages to help himself to her library. Well -- okay, it’s one bookshelf, but it’s got a shitton of information on various kinds of beings, how to get rid of them, how they’re summoned, all that kind of shit. Jesse has been working through the books slowly, though; he’s still only in the A’s, but hey, it’s something to do when the nights are long.

That’s probably why Jesse decides to keep staying in Amari’s house, despite the feeling of ghosts all around him. He still can’t bring himself to investigate Amari’s bedroom or mess up any of her things, but...he likes having a home. After he left Ravensbeak, he was a wanderer; he traveled between inns, taverns, and couches of the people he helped. He didn’t have the chance to keep a garden full of plants for alchemy or hunting, or to have letters sent to him, or any of that. He likes having a home base now.

Especially because he can keep in contact with Fareeha. It took him a few days to work up the nerve to start writing a letter, and a few more to figure out what exactly to say in it. But he sent it out; that’s the important thing. He forgot what he wrote since, but from what he remembers, it was mostly just apologies interspersed with updates. _I’m so sorry, I’m living in Ravensbeak now, I feel so bad, you should come visit,_ that sorta thing. He’s simultaneously dreading and anticipating Fareeha’s response.

With the letter, the grief, and the hunting, Jesse has had a very busy week. He thinks he can handle it, though. Sure, he feels like he’s running on fumes, and sure, he yawns in the middle of every other word, and sure, he still gets the heebie-jeebies in his own bed, but the effort he has to put in isn’t monumental. He just has to fall into his stride.

 

* * *

 

When there’s a pounding on the front door in the middle of the night, Jesse doesn’t know why he bothers trying to sleep upstairs.

The knocking is frantic and relentless. In the time that it takes Jesse to untangle himself from his blanket, pull on some pants and a shirt, and lumber his way downstairs, the rapping hasn’t paused or stopped once. At this rate, he’s gonna get a headache -- he just knows it.

When Jesse pulls the door open, he’s ready to shout at whoever’s on the other side, but he stops short when he catches sight of three teenagers and blood. Before he can get a word in, one of the teenagers -- doe-eyed and tearstained -- cries, “Mister McCree!”

The second teenager -- tall and brawny -- says, “We need yer help, sir.”

The third teenager -- bloody on her forehead -- doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to; her eyes are wide and her face is pale.

Jesse harrumphs, opening the door and stepping inside. “What th’hell did y’all step in?” he asks. “Get’chyer friend on the couch -- I can clean that up.”

After the kids clamber inside, Jesse closes the door and makes his way to the kitchen. He fills a bowl with water and grabs a few cloths before he emerges in the living room again. The doe-eyed kid is on the couch with the bloodstained girl, holding her hands tightly, while the stocky one is standing, her arms crossed.

“Now, I want _one_ of ya t’start explainin’,” Jesse grumbles as he makes his way to the sitting area. “‘N’ try t’do it calmly.”

“I can do it,” the one standing says, glancing with a frown at her friends. They nod gratefully.

As Jesse settles on his knees in front of the couch and begins to gently dab away the blood, the tall girl explains. “We were jus’ up on the mountain,” she says, “tryna stay the night, y’know. Everythin’ was goin’ fine till we got woken up, ‘cause somethin’ was crashin’ ‘round. Figured it was a wolf or somethin’, so we went explorin’. Saw this--” She falters, and Jesse glances at her. “This -- I ‘unno how t’say it, sir.”

“What’d it look like?” Jesse asks as he pulls his hand away from the girl’s face. She’s clean, and the wound isn’t bad -- just a small gash. She seems calmer now, though she’s still clutching her friend’s hands for dear life. Jesse pats her knee before he turns his full attention to the one telling the story.

“Like -- like a man, sir, ‘cept not a normal man,” she continues. “His eyes were blank, ‘n’ he had dark skin ‘n’ fangs. I think, anyway -- was real dark, so I didn’t get a good look. ‘E got angry when we saw ‘im, I think, ‘cause then a chair flew, ‘n’ hit Lenna in the head.” She frowns with worry at the girl on the couch.

Jesse nods and frowns at the information as he stands. “Sounds like y’all had quite a scare,” he says. “Notice anythin’ ‘bout the house? Any weird objects, anythin’ like that?”

All three kids shake their head, but the doe-eyed one pipes up, “There was just this -- room, with all these candles. Too many to count. Other than that, th’place was empty.”

Jesse nods at them. Sounds like an aoandon, then -- and the only reason Jesse knows the name off the top of his head is because he just saw it in Amari’s collection of books. He can’t remember the details, but he knows the summoning ritual’s got to do with candles and slowly blowing them out, and that banishment has to do with lighting the last candle that was extinguished.

“Alright,” Jesse grumbles as he takes the bowl back to the kitchen. “One last question, then I’ll let y’all get home: _why_ d’you kids go up there if you _know_ there’s somethin’ up there?” He drops the bowl on the counter, then steps back to the living room to frown at the kids’ sheepish faces.

The girl with the gash shrugs. “It’s just what y’gotta do, sir,” she says. “If y’wanna prove yer not a scaredy-cat, y’gotta go spend the night in th’shack. All th’teens’ve done it since I can remember.”

Jesse hums, frowning. If the demon has been there for so long, then Amari _must_ have known about him -- which means she kept him around for a reason. Sounds like this won’t be a simple banishing job, then; Jesse is gonna need answers.

“Alright,” he slowly says, then waves towards the front door. “Y’all get home safe. Keep an eye out for each other. ‘N’ stop encouragin’ other kids t’do this stupid-ass tradition.”

The kids nod quickly as they hurry towards the door.

“Thanks, Mister McCree,” the doe-eyed one says before they duck outside.

“Thank you,” the injured girl whispers before she follows suit.

“Thanks, sir,” the tall girl rumbles easily before she also exits, closing the door behind her.

Jesse sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. He’ll have to deal with this demon -- sooner rather than later, now that he’s hurting people. He knows how stupid-stubborn kids can be (guilty as charged), and he doesn’t want to give them any more chances to get hurt than they’ve already had.

When Jesse makes his way back to his bedroom, he frowns at his bed while standing in the middle of his room. He’s bone-tired, but...he knows he won’t be able to really sleep until this is off his mind.

Jesse sighs again as he begins putting on his gear. Sometimes he really hates being so duty-driven.

 

It’s too early for fog, which is both a relief and a concern. It’s too early for birds, too, which is just unsettling.

Jesse tilts his hat up as he looks at the house. He remembers someone describing it as a shack, but this is no shack; it’s a veritable cabin. It’d be a nice place to stay, in fact -- if the windows weren’t smashed, and if the door wasn’t hanging on its hinges, and if it didn’t look _really fucking creepy_ with all the lights out, and if Jesse didn’t feel eyes on him.

He rubs at his arm under his coat, willing his goosebumps to calm down. He just needs to get in, talk to the demon, and figure if keeping him unbanished is really worth it. No big deal. He’s done it a thousand times.

Okay, no, he hasn’t. He likes trying to talk things out with spirits, sure, but this is the first time he’s actually gone in with that as plan A. And besides, this is squarely Amari’s turf. She kept this demon here for a reason, and now Jesse has a chance to either continue with her wishes, or fuck it all up. He _really_ hopes he’ll do right by her, but he can’t help but feel like he’s just gonna end up making a big mess of it.

He huffs a breath. He isn't gonna get answers just by standing here -- no matter how much he may want to. He steps up to the front door of the cabin, and only has to nudge it aside a little to enter.

Inside is a wreck. Wooden splinters litter the floor, remnants from smashed furniture. Glass shards accompany them, and Jesse's boots crunch with every step. It's significantly colder inside than it was outside.

As Jesse stalks around with his eyes peeled, he calls, "Hey, bud. I know yer here. C'mon out 'n' have a lil' chat with me, huh?"

No response. Jesse resists the urge to roll his eyes; why do demons make it so difficult? As he moves to the next room -- similarly disheveled, though this one has tattered curtains drifting eerily in a breeze -- he continues to speak.

"I heard ya've been tryna hurt kids." He spins in a slow circle, eyeing the ceiling. "What's up with that, huh? Lashin' out at the only company y'get in this nice ol' cabin?"

Jesse moves to the next room, and frowns at the sight. The kids reported right; there are tons of candles here, rising up stair-like levels. They're all different sizes and colors, and Jesse can only imagine how aromatic they must have been in their prime. With the broken windows, though, the room only smells like forest

Before he can investigate the candles, a breeze threatens to take off his hat. Between one blink and the next, the demon appears in front of Jesse.

He's in the shape of a man, sure -- mostly. His fingers are sharpened claws, though, and ivory fangs curl over his lower lip. Behind two curved horns, raven locks are pulled back with a white ribbon. His alabaster eyes are set deep in his midnight-blue skin. Some of his skin is painted, dark red swirling around his eyes and down his one exposed arm. Half his chest is exposed, too, his white gi pulled aside to allow it. He's muscular -- not that demons usually look _weak_ , but Jesse can tell this isn't for show.

Jesse shakes off the analysis before he can get too starstruck. A lopsided grin flops on his face as he says, "There y'are. I was worried I'd haveta--"

"Hunter," the demon claims. His voice rattles Jesse to his core -- deep and smooth.

Jesse nods, forcing a cool façade. "That's me," he answers as he watches the demon closely. Either he's gonna attack at the news of a hunter, or he's gonna run away -- but he doesn't seem the running type. "Y'gonna start throwin' stuff?" Jesse asks, if only to get it out of the way.

"Banish me," the demon commands, empty gaze boring into Jesse.

"Sorry?" Jesse sputters. "I must'a heard y'wro--"

" _Banish me_ ," the demon repeats as he takes a step toward Jesse. "Now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jesse says, holding up his hands. "I'm not lookin' t'banish ya -- yet. I just wanna ask some questions."

The demon's lip curls. "You are here to _talk_?" he asks. "You are a hunter. Your job is to hunt -- not to converse. Banish me and be done with it."

"No can do, sweetheart," Jesse says. "Not till you tell me why Amari kept you up here."

The demon bares his teeth. "It is no matter," he says. "She is cold in the ground, is she not? I refuse to be kept in this shack for a moment longer. Act, hunter, or I will _force_ you to act."

“I’m not doin’ anythin’ till--”

The demon gives a frustrated shout before he disappears in a puff of smoke. “Fine,” his disembodied voice snarls. “Make it difficult for yourself.”

Jesse intends to continue pleading his case, but he’s forced silent as he has to duck under a thrown chair. He huffs as he stands, looking around the floor. Whatever he ends up doing, he needs this spirit’s damn candle.

He’s not gonna make it easy for Jesse, though. Jesse lifts his arms to block his face as the candles on the floor begin flying at him; the old wax breaks easily against him, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Just _banish me_!” the demon shouts, and his voice rattles the walls. “Why will you not do your duty?!”

Jesse wheezes and stumbles forward as something slams into his back -- the door, he confirms when he glances behind him. He shuffles along the room -- all of the candles are shards of wax on the ground now, so none of them must be the demon’s candle.

“You came here for one thing,” the demon continues, and a sturdy table flies at Jesse. That one is harder to defend against -- Jesse slams against the wall with a pained gasp. “What kind of hunter does not do his job? What kind of _failure_ \--”

“I _told_ ya,” Jesse says through grit teeth as he takes a few more steps towards a doorway. “I came here for _answers_. Not t’banish ya.”

“Then you are a fool,” the demon replies, voice cold and angry. “I will turn to killing if I must! Is that what you wish? For the deaths of children?”

Jesse doesn’t reply that time, focusing on ducking under a thrown bowl as he makes his way to the door. The demon makes a compelling argument, but Jesse is sure Amari wouldn’t have kept him locked up here for no reason. There _has_ to be something going on, and Jesse is gonna get to the bottom of it.

When Jesse reaches the door, it lunges back and slams him in the face. He huffs, reaching a hand up to nurse his split lip. “Real classy,” he growls, a snarl on his own face. He shoves his way through the doorway, and has to pause to analyze the next room.

There’s a ton of shit flying around in a mini-whirlwind -- glass, paper, wooden splinters and pieces of broken furniture. Jesse is pelted with debris as soon as he enters the room, but he’s glad it’s small shit, especially when he sees a flash of white in the middle of the whirlwind.

Jesse grits his teeth, prosthetic hand lifted in front of his face. He inhales deeply before he dives forward, flesh hand reaching for the small ivory candle in the middle of the whirlwind.

As soon as his fingers curl around the cold wax, the whirlwind stops whirling. Everything falls to the floor with a clatter, and Jesse looks around with a frown. He slowly stands as he warily casts his gaze about, hand cradling the candle protectively; it’s small -- not at all noteworthy like it maybe should’ve been.

“Y’know how y’get banished, don’t’cha?” he calls to the empty air.

“Of course I do,” the demon spits from behind Jesse. When Jesse looks, the demon has a sour expression on as he stares hatefully at the candle. “Just light the candle, hunter. I have waited long enough.”

“I already told ya,” Jesse says, “I just want’cha t’answer a question.” When the demon only stays silent, Jesse lifts the candle between his fingers, focusing his gaze on it. “Y’know, I wonder what would happen if I was t’crush it instead?”

Now, Jesse knows how to bluff. He isn’t expecting much from this one -- maybe just a scolding for being stupid, something thrown in his face, that kind of thing. He has no idea what happens if he destroys the candle, really.

But the demon’s eyes widen as a snarl curls his mouth, and his gaze flicks to meet Jesse’s instead. “You wouldn’t,” he hisses, balling his hands into fists.

Well, Jesse knows how to run with shit, too. “I would,” he says, curling his hand fully around the candle again. “All I want is for ya t’answer _one_ question, then I might banish ya, or I might not. But if y’don’t answer, then….” He pantomimes crushing the candle between his palms.

“--Fine,” the demon says, gaze riveted on the candle again. “Alright,” he says, voice less tense. “What is your question, hunter?”

“Why didn’t Amari banish ya?” Jesse watches the demon’s face closely.

The demon, for the most part, remains a stone wall; he doesn’t show any emotion, and he doesn’t move his eyes from the candle. After a few long moments, he says, “I...seek vengeance on an entity in Ravensbeak.” He flicks his gaze up to Jesse. “I seek its destruction.” His mouth twists in a forceful frown. “She was concerned about what this would mean for the town.”

Jesse furrows his brow. “How does gettin’ banished help ya with that?” he asks.

The demon scoffs and crosses his arms. “When banished, demons and spirits are given a new form, along with new abilities.” His hands tighten into fists again, and he begins to pace.

“I was once able to move mountains!” he laments, voice coursing with rage. “I could command beasts you wouldn’t be able to dream of! I could rend the sky! And now? _Now_?” he spits. “I can disappear in a puff of smoke, and my existence hinges on the small piece of wax in your hands. I cannot destroy anyone like _this_.” He turns his gaze to Jesse with a frown. “I _must_ be banished before I can do anything.”

Jesse meets the demon’s gaze as he considers him. It makes sense why Amari left him up here; he’s out of the way, and it’s probably easy enough to tell kids not to come up here. If he were to become something more powerful, there’s no telling what kind of damage Ravensbeak would go through. Two supernatural entities duking it out, with a human town caught in the crossfire? Jesse doesn’t want to think about it.

But that solution won’t work anymore. He doesn’t know if the demon was bluffing when he said he was gonna start killing folk, but Jesse isn’t willing to take that gamble. He can’t leave the spirit, but he can’t banish him, either.

Jesse’s gaze falls down to the candle. Like most spirits, the demon is tied to the candle, and not the house. Theoretically, he’s able to go anywhere -- so long as the candle is moving with him. That gives Jesse an idea.

“Then I’m takin’ you with me,” Jesse says as he looks back up at the demon.

“What?” The demon furrows his brow. “You must be joking.”

“Nope,” Jesse says. “Y’come with me, I can take ya huntin’, see if we can’t find this ‘entity’ y’wanna get rid of, ‘n’ get rid of it together. Far as I can tell, it’s a win-win.”

The demon shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just light my candle.”

“No can do, sweetheart,” Jesse says as he starts to toss the candle between each hand. “I’m not gonna let’cha have th’chance t’rampage on my town, and I don’t want’cha killin’ people up here. Y’either come with me, or….” Jesse makes as if he’s gonna crush the candle between his palms. “...Poof.”

The demon stares at him for a long moment, and Jesse is half convinced he’s going to attack again. Finally, though, he cuts a glare to the side and curtly says, “ _Fine_.”

Jesse blinks. It worked? Well -- of course it worked. He’s got wit and charm in spades, doesn’t he? He grins at the demon (and ignores the sharp pain in his bleeding lip). “Great,” he says. “Name’s Jesse McCree.” His grin dims. “Do -- d’y’all get names? Or should I--”

“Hanzo,” the demon cuts in, looking back at Jesse. “We choose our own names.”

Jesse nods. “Alright,” he says. “Uh. Nice t’meet’cha, Hanzo.”

Hanzo lifts his brow at the manners -- and so does Jesse, really. It’s just reflex. And, well...he should try to get to know Hanzo, shouldn’t he? Just in case everything goes belly-up, it’ll be easier if Hanzo likes him.

When Hanzo doesn’t say anything, Jesse begins to shuffle through the house. “Well, uh. No use in waitin’ ‘round, huh? Nobody’s up right now, so it’ll be easy t’get home, ‘cause we won’t have’ta hide you.”

“Hide me?” Hanzo asks as he follows after Jesse. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pretend like I don’t exist while you’re in public. I don’t intend to sit idly by while you do your work.”

“No, ‘course not,” Jesse says. “Just -- I can’t let anyone know I’ve got a demon in my pocket, y’know? Bad for business.”

“You could always banish me and protect your reputation,” Hanzo deadpans.

Jesse huffs. “That’d be even _worse_ for business, if y’got yer way.” He waves a hand as they walk out of the front door. “I’ll figure somethin’ out -- let’s just focus on gettin’ back ‘fore the sun comes up.”

“Very well,” Hanzo replies.

 

The walk to Amari’s house is silent. Birds start singing when they’re halfway there, and Jesse tries to start up conversation a few times. Hanzo makes it obvious he isn’t interested in a tour, though, so he quickly gives up. His eyes ache and his footsteps are heavy, anyway, so he isn’t really in the mood to give a tour to an unwilling participant.

At least, Hanzo _acts_ like he doesn’t want a tour. He doesn’t talk, but he looks around with wide eyes, as if he can’t get enough of the new sights. Jesse doesn’t blame him. Ten years locked in the same house with nobody for company except kids going there on a dare? He’d go a little stir-crazy, too. But he doesn’t really know how similar demons are in that kind of regard.

Jesse is far from an expert, but as far as he knows, there isn’t really a lot of information on...what demons are _like_. How to summon them and how to banish them, sure, but outside of that? Jesse doesn’t know where they come from, what they eat, _if_ they eat, what they consider rude or polite. To most hunters, they’re just pests -- a problem to get rid of before a house is in tip-top condition. Sorta like wood rot.

Jesse personally hasn’t ever held that view, but...now he’s living with one.

He can’t keep his eyes off of Hanzo once they’re inside Amari’s house. Hanzo is looking around with -- well, it’s hard to tell. Mild disinterest might be as good a guess as any, but if someone’s eyes are blank, any guess is bad.

“Alright,” Jesse says, setting his hat on the table in the middle of the room. “Uh. Bedrooms’re upstairs, bathroom’s through there, kitchen’s that way -- d’you even need any’a those?”

“No,” Hanzo replies. It’s hard to tell, but Jesse thinks he might have an amused curl to his mouth. Maybe.

“Okay,” Jesse says, swallowing a yawn. “Then...ground rules. Don’t answer th’door if someone knocks. Don’t, y’know, do that thing where y’throw shit. If y’wanna look at somethin’, put it back where y’found it. Don’t go in my room. Got it?”

Hanzo hums. “What are you going to do if I disobey one of your rules?” he asks, and yeah, that’s _definitely_ a smirk -- like the cat that ate the damn canary. “Banish me? Oh, the horror.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “I can always smash yer candle. Y’wouldn’t like that as much, would ya?”

Hanzo’s amusement disappears entirely. “Understood,” he murmurs, turning his gaze back to the bookshelf. Jesse makes a mental note to look up what smashing the candle actually does -- if it gets Hanzo to back off so easily, it _can’t_ be good.

After a few moments, Hanzo asks without looking at Jesse, “Did you figure out a solution for my coming with you on your jobs?”

Jesse shakes his head, and has to lock in another yawn. “Short of keepin’ ya locked in yer candle? Nope.”

Hanzo exhales a little. “Disappointing,” he says. “Would it help if I told you I can appear human?”

Jesse frowns. “Uh, _yeah_ ,” he says. “Why didn’t’cha mention before?”

Hanzo turns to him, a smirk ghosting around his mouth again. “I wanted to see if you would be able to come up with anything.”

“Ha, ha,” Jesse says. He crosses his arms as he sizes up Hanzo. “C’mon, then. Let’s see it.”

Hanzo slides his eyes shut, his shoulders relaxed. His form shimmers, almost like it’s directly underneath some rippling water. His skin lightens and the marks around his eyes disappear; his hair remains inky-black, his fangs retreat back into his mouth, and his clawed hands adopt a softer, more human look. His horns crawl down until his forehead is smooth, and his hair flops down across his face without them holding it back.

The painted skin on his chest and arm changes, too, adopting an azure hue. It looks more like storm clouds now, with some kind of serpent writhing between them. His gi darkens until it’s black and blue. When he opens his eyes again, they look -- well, human. They’ve got pupils and irises and everything. They’re brown, and Jesse resists the urge to stare into them for too long.

“Is this satisfactory?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse nods. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “Lot more than before, anyway. Just….”

“What?” Hanzo asks.

“Can ya look a little….” Jesse hums, trying to find the right word.

“A little _what_?” Hanzo asks, curt. “Do I look inhuman?”

“Well--” Jesse huffs. “A lil’ less _perfect_. Give yerself some grays or scars or sum’n. Y’look like a damn aristocrat. Nobody’s gonna believe _you’re_ bunkin’ with _me_.”

Hanzo stares at Jesse for a long, silent moment. He finally huffs a sigh before his form shimmers again, and some silvery hair appears at his temples. “Are all humans as picky as you?” he asks.

“Even more,” Jesse answers. He wants to add something else, but that damn yawn finally escapes. It’s a big one -- Jesse has to squint his eyes shut, and tears spring up at the corners of his eyes.

“What is that?” Hanzo asks. When Jesse opens his eyes again, he sees that Hanzo’s shoulders are drawn up, his hands are stiff, and he’s frowning. “Are you threatening me?”

“What?” Jesse asks, then snorts. “No. It’s just a yawn.”

Hanzo squints, and his hackles lower by a few inches. “...Why?”

“Why what?” Jesse asks. He makes his way to the kitchen -- he needs some coffee if he’s gonna be dealing with questions about the nature of humanity or whatever.

“Why do you do it?” Hanzo asks. He’s following after Jesse, if his voice is any indication.

“Humans yawn when they’re tired ‘n’ gotta sleep,” Jesse says as he grabs a mug from a cupboard. “Please tell me y’know what _sleep_ is.”

“Of course I do,” Hanzo snaps. “You are not going to do it?”

“Nah,” Jesse says as he pulls the bag of coffee grounds from the cupboard. “Right now, yer under surveillance, sugar.”

“...Very well,” Hanzo says, though his voice is sour. “What are we going to do, then?”

Jesse shrugs and glances back at Hanzo. “There’s work t’be done, I reckon.”

It’ll be harder to fall into his stride with Hanzo around, but hopefully, Jesse won’t even notice him there.


	3. Dancing to the Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's give a big YEEHAW to my beta rook <3 <3 <3 (rookwind on ao3, arcaneexplosion on tumblr)

Living with Hanzo is impossible. 

Jesse wonders why he ever thought it would be a good idea. Hanzo leaves the books wherever he ends up reading them, writes comments about the inaccuracies in them, and early on, made noises at all hours of the night. More than once did Jesse woke up thinking there was an intruder when it was just Hanzo opening a creaky door or stepping on an older spot of the floor.

Thankfully, though, Hanzo is...reasonable. After the first week of being woken up every night thanks to an errant noise, Jesse decided he’d had enough. His sleep schedule was shit to begin with thanks to the home calls and the grief, so he didn’t need Hanzo making it worse.

After the creaking floor woke Jesse up _again_ , he threw the blanket off himself and stormed his way to his door. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going through his head until he made it to the top of the stairs and said, voice gruff and loud, “Hanzo.”

Hanzo appeared at the foot of the stairs almost immediately, only a silhouette outlined with moonlight against the dark. “Yes?”

Jesse had to take a second to rein in his anger. He was just tired -- he didn’t wanna take it out on the poor guy. After a moment of controlled breathing, he said, “D’y’think y’could be a lil’ quieter down there while I’m sleepin’?”

Hanzo tilted his head a fraction, and Jesse wished he could see his expression. The smirk on his face was clear through his tone, though, when he said, “Or what?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Jesse said, reaching up to rub his eyes. “I could leave yer candle in my bed, roll over, and accidentally crush it while I’m _tryin’_ t’sleep. Jus’ a thought, though.”

Hanzo remained silent for a long moment before he murmured, “Very well.” His tone was a lot more subdued -- Jesse almost felt a little bad. He was gonna apologize before Hanzo continued, “I did not realize humans awoke from such small noises.”

“Some do, some don’t,” Jesse says. “Sorry y’got saddled with one’a the ones that does.”

Hanzo didn’t respond past a small, barely-visible nod of his head. Jesse was ready to turn back around before Hanzo hesitantly asked, “Your arm...comes off?”

Jesse rolled his shoulder, glancing down at the appendage in question. “Yep,” he said. He’d forgotten Hanzo hadn’t seen him without it yet.

“Can all humans remove their arms like you do?” Hanzo asked.

Jesse snorted. “No,” he said. “Most humans got both arms firmly attached. Y’didn’t know that?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I haven’t made it a priority to investigate human anatomy,” he said. “Why can you?”

Jesse would’ve crossed his arms if he could. He knew that Hanzo wasn’t trying to be rude, but...it was the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake. Jesse resolved to keep it short as he said, “I, uh, lost my arm t’some werewolves when I was young. After Amari took me in, she kept fixin’ me prosthetics.”

“She made multiple?” Hanzo asked. “Why do you only use one?”

Jesse snorted. “I outgrew ‘em, honeycake. ‘Sides, this one’s the most recent.” A small smile snuck onto his face. “Her first one was just a stick, basically. Took her a few tries before she figured out how t’let me control ‘em, ‘n’ a few more t’figure out how t’make ‘em _cool_. Stubborn lady never gave up on a thing she set her mind to.”

Hanzo hummed quietly. “Indeed,” he murmured. “She insisted on keeping me in that cabin, but she visited sometimes -- even when I only asked her to banish me.” His tone softened a little. “She always said no, though I appreciated her company otherwise.”

Jesse’s smile grew. “Ooh, a demon likin’ the company of a hunter? Don’t tell nobody, huh?”

Hanzo snorted. “Go back to bed.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sugar,” Jesse drawled. “She had that effect on lots’a folk.” He lifted his hand to block a yawn. “Don’t have’ta tell _me_ twice, though. G’night, Hanzo.”

“Goodnight.”

Once Jesse got back to his bed, he slept soundly -- and he didn’t hear a peep from Hanzo after that, even the following nights.

Okay, so maybe living with Hanzo isn’t impossible, but Jesse could still do without the smartass notes in Amari’s books.

 _Working_ with Hanzo, though, is a dream. 

Jesse wonders why every hunter doesn’t have a supernatural sidekick. Hanzo provides insight on lots of hauntings, gives Jesse tips for making his life a thousand times easier with them, and has saved Jesse’s hide more than a handful of times. More than once has Jesse felt like he hit a dead end with a case, only for Hanzo to give him some piece of advice and help him through it.

Hanzo was extra helpful on missions once Jesse found him a bow. He mentioned early on that he was good at archery, and Jesse thought, well, why not? It took him a week or so to track down a passable bow -- wooden and simple, but when he passed it to Hanzo, Hanzo got a feral grin on his face. 

After that, jobs were a breeze. Well, as much of a breeze as they could’ve been, anyway. Jesse was real glad to have someone watching his back for him. He didn't realize how important Hanzo's presence was, though, until a little under a month into their partnership.

It was a routine enough job: someone visited the graveyard at night to pay their respects, caught sight of someone else stumbling around, approached them, freaked when they saw half the person’s face missing, then ran to Jesse’s to get his help.

The Ravensbeak Cemetery has always had issues. Not big ones -- just...sometimes after a soul has departed, the body decides it isn’t done living. Sometimes these bodies get angry enough to claw out of both their coffin and their grave. 

The good news is that they can’t get very far from their grave; the bad news is that Jesse can’t just ban people from going to the graveyard. The other good news is that deaders are easy to hunt and lay back to rest: just find their grave, insert their name into the proper spell, boom: they’re laid back to rest. The hard part is just worrying about a sore back after inserting them back into their coffin. The other bad news, though, is that he has to _find_ the person’s grave first -- which, if it’s dark, is fucking difficult.

Normally, it’s easy to tell when a grave has been flipped upside down and dug out of. But that night, the low plants that covered the graves looked just like the ground, so Jesse had to walk through the aisles and pray he didn’t trip or run into the deader before he found the gravestone.

Like he said, though: working with Hanzo is a dream. He managed to stay completely alert, bow in hand, while Jesse stepped carefully through the graves, lantern held low to the ground. They were halfway through the graveyard and still hadn’t found the damn upturned grave when Jesse started to get a little frustrated.

“Beginnin’ t’think th’damn thing doesn’t _exist_ ,” Jesse grumbled as he moved on to another grave. “No sign’a th’deader or th’grave. Typical.”

“You believe your townsperson lied?” Hanzo asked quietly.

“No,” Jesse sighed. “I’m just tired, my boots’re wet, ‘n’ I don’t like not knowin’ where th’closest baddie is at all times. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Your skin can do that?”

“You _know_ it’s a figure’a speech.”

“I know,” Hanzo said, a grin in his voice. “But the thought is--”

He cut off for some reason, so Jesse glanced over his shoulder to investigate. Hanzo was staring at something towards the wrought-iron gateway that led to the road back to town.

“Y’see somethin’?” Jesse asked.

“I heard something,” Hanzo murmured. “Continue on your way -- I will investigate.”

Jesse nodded and followed Hanzo’s instructions. He heard Hanzo slowly walking away, and thought little of it -- though he kept glancing upwards to make sure nothing got the drop on him.

Lot of good _that_ did when something barreled into Jesse’s side, sending him skidding and slamming into a gravestone. He groaned, trying to gather his wits as he focused on the roaring creature pinning him onto his back. Broken teeth, flying spittle, rotten odor -- yep, found the deader.

Jesse wished he wasn’t dazed, or he wouldn’t have been fumbling for his gun. He also wished he wasn’t lying on his back, stuck between a corpse and a hard place -- but mostly the dazed thing. 

Once the deader lifted a hand to try and strike at Jesse’s face, though, he abandoned his search to bring up his own arm, blocking the attack. The sucker was _strong_. Jesse wheezed out a breath as he struggled to keep the deader’s arm back. He scrambled to think of something, anything, to get him the hell out.

Suddenly, Jesse was free; he saw a flash of Hanzo pulling the deader by the neck up and off of him. “Go!” Hanzo said as he held the struggling deader. “I will--” He cut off with a growl as the body managed to bring its fingers across his face, drawing thin lines of blood.

“Y’sure?!” Jesse asked as he pushed himself to his feet. Wounds from these things were notoriously difficult to deal with -- they were prone to infection, to festering….

“Find its name,” Hanzo said, pushing the deader with enough force to send it stumbling back. It just ran towards him again, arms outstretched, and Hanzo met it halfway with a blow across its face with his bow. He glanced at Jesse, then barked, “Go!”

Jesse nodded, then turned to keep investigating graves. He went quickly and frantically; corpse-wounds needed to be treated as soon as possible, or it’d be ugly for the victim. They were incredibly painful, made the person horrifically sick, and if untended for too long, could result in death. Not that death would’ve been a concern, probably, but….

Was he worried about Hanzo? Yeah, alright, he was. Should he have been? Probably not.

It took a few minutes before Jesse nearly tipped over onto the right grave: the dirt was churned, with a deep hole in the middle of it. Jesse fell to his knees next to the headstone, hastily moving aside flowers and brushing dirt away from the engraved name -- which, unfortunately, was long.

Jesse sucked in a breath when he saw the name: _Adele Genoveva Reinhardt_. No time to waste -- he stood up and looked around for Adele’s body and Hanzo. They weren’t far from where they had started the scuffle, thankfully. He rushed over, jumping over headstones as he watched the fight carefully. Hanzo looked fine, but Jesse was sure the scratches were already acting up.

When Jesse was almost there, he shouted, “Hold it down!”

Hanzo kicked at the deader’s leg and pressed his bow horizontally across its chest to get it to fall. He pinned it to the ground, only glancing back at Jesse as it struggled under him.

Jesse skid on his knees to a stop next to the deader’s head. It hissed at him, but he closed his eyes and held his prosthetic palm-down above its face. He began to murmur the incantation, the words of the spell heavy in his mouth. His arm warmed and lit up against his closed lids, but he ignored it to continue the incantation.

When he murmured Adele’s name at the end of the spell, he waited a moment before he opened his eyes again. The deader wasn’t moving -- just a corpse again. Jesse sighed, then looked up at Hanzo.

“Okay,” he said, getting to his feet and offering Hanzo a hand. “Your turn. Let’s get’chyer cheek looked at.”

Hanzo snorted and stood on his own. By then, the blood was coating the majority of his cheek and beginning to seep into the whiskers on his jaw. “That will not be necessary. I am fine.”

Jesse shook his head. “No -- these things’re no joke, sugarcube. Trust me, we should--”

“Trust _me_ ,” Hanzo said. 

He lifted his arm, his tattoo glowing an icy blue. Jesse watched, transfixed, as the azure glow threw Hanzo’s features into sharp relief. Hanzo rubbed his thumb across the trio of scratches, and when it came away, they were gone, only a ghostly imprint of blue left in their place for a moment before they vanished completely.

Jesse blinked. “Oh. You -- y’can just...do that?”

“Not often,” Hanzo said. “Not with large wounds, not for others. But yes.” He glanced down at the body. “Shall we get moving?”

“Oh, uh--” Jesse nodded. “Yeah, definitely, sure.”

As Jesse and Hanzo moved to re-bury the body, Jesse kept stealing glances at Hanzo. He looked fine -- better than fine, really, which was business as usual. Jesse almost wanted to scold himself for being so worried in the first place, but he was more curious about _why_ he was worried.

He figured it out halfway back to the house: they’re _friends_. Of course Jesse would be worried if his friend got hurt. Well, Hanzo might not have considered him a friend, but Jesse figured there was no other explanation for his concern. It was only natural, right? They were spending nearly every day together, running headfirst into life-or-death-or-undeath situations, learning and teaching each other…. In Jesse’s eyes, that was a recipe for friendship.

Nevermind that they were supposed to be sworn enemies.

Hanzo wasn’t the only person in Jesse’s life, though; Jesse got a letter from Fareeha a few days after the graveyard incident. As with everything Fareeha writes, it was brief and to-the-point. She forgave Jesse for not getting the initial letter, then said she hoped he was doing well in the town. She told him about how the war was going, but honestly, he wasn’t sure if he cared. Ravensbeak is far enough from the war to not be affected -- for now.

When Jesse wrote back, he debated on whether or not he should tell Fareeha about Hanzo. Jesse trusted her the most out of anyone in the world, but he wasn’t sure her reaction would be great if she found out that a demon was living under her late mother’s roof. She had high ideals and a hot head. Or, well...when Jesse last saw her, she did.

Eventually, Jesse decided that the worst thing she could do was _visit_ , and wrote the whole truth. As he sent the sealed letter -- noticeably thicker than the last -- he decided he was lucky that Amari tried to keep Fareeha away from the hunting business, or he’d be worried about Hanzo’s chances of survival.

Her response -- about a month later -- wasn’t a visit, but it was a letter explaining that she understood and hoped that Jesse knew what he was doing. He wasn’t sure he could claim _that_ much, but he appreciated the sentiment.

He should’ve given her more credit from the start. His response was a thanks and some updates on the rest of the townsfolk.

Speaking of which, the townspeople weren’t sure what to make of Hanzo. Part of that might’ve been Jesse’s fault; after taking Hanzo into town for the first time and getting faced with a question he hadn’t prepared for -- _who is this?_ \-- Jesse said that Hanzo was his partner and left it at that. If Mr. Lindholm interpreted it as romantic partner or work partner, he didn’t say; he just nodded and went with it.

Hanzo’s personality, though, also confuses them. Jesse thinks, anyway; Hanzo investigates things that are otherwise considered mundane and boring, and he doesn’t blink an eye at even the most supernatural things. Jesse has half a mind to tell him to try and act human better, but honestly, he likes watching Hanzo try sticking his head into a mailbox or a well. It’s cute.

As cute as a demon can be, anyway.

It wasn’t all work, though. Jesse wanted to get to know Hanzo. The first few weeks they spent together, Jesse tried to figure out why smashing Hanzo’s candle was such a big deal. Whenever Hanzo tried to push a boundary and Jesse brought it up, he clammed right up and threw out any signs of mischief. 

Jesse couldn’t find any information about it in any books, though, so one night while he was making dinner for himself -- a month or so after the graveyard incident -- he figured he might as well ask about it. Worst thing Hanzo could’ve done was not answer, right?

“Hey, Hanzo,” Jesse called as he stirred the pot in front of him.

Hanzo stepped in from the living room, if the creaking wood was any indication. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jesse asked, looking back at Hanzo over his shoulder. He was nervous about asking -- he didn’t know why. It was just a candle, right? The answer was probably something stupid like crushing it made Hanzo poof into smoke immediately, or something.

After a moment of deliberation, Hanzo said, “You may.”

“I was wonderin’, uh….” He looked back at his pot. “What _does_ happen if I destroy yer candle?”

Hanzo stayed silent for a long moment. “You don’t _know_?” he finally asked, voice terse.

“Well, not in the _strictest_ sense’a th’word,” Jesse fielded. “I mean, I kinda just BS’d when I first pulled it out, but it got’cha t’listen, so I’ve just kinda...still been usin’ it.” He pulled the pot off the stove, then fully turned around to frown at Hanzo. “Is it bad?”

Hanzo’s mouth was set in a grim line. He watched Jesse closely, as if weighing his options. Jesse let him consider before he finally answered hesitantly, “...I die.”

“You _die_?” Jesse asked. “Nu-uh. Spirits don’t just die.”

“Every demon, ghost, and spirit is different,” Hanzo replied mildly. “Every type has different binds, different abilities, different strengths. Weaker kinds can easily be killed by humans -- such as myself,” he added with a distant sneer of scorn. “I am bound to that wax; if it is destroyed, then I will have nowhere to stay, and will cease to exist.”

“Oh,” Jesse said. “So...I’ve just been casually threatenin’ your existence whenever somethin’ didn’t go my way.” When Hanzo didn’t respond immediately, Jesse looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m...real sorry.”

Hanzo stayed quiet for another few beats before he said, “You...really did not know.”

Jesse shook his head and looked back up at Hanzo. “I had no clue,” he said. “If I’da known, I wouldn’t’a said it. That shit’s not right. I’m sorry.”

Hanzo’s head was tilted, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. “You are more like your predecessor than I first believed, if that is the case. I accept your apology.”

“Amari?” Jesse said, surprised at the compliment -- which is probably why he flushed, too. “Naw, she -- she would’a known, probably. Right? I mean--”

“I did not mean in terms of knowledge,” Hanzo cleanly interrupted. “I meant in terms of temperament. Many hunters would not afford me the same grace that you have meant to.”

“Well, I dunno about _grace_ ,” Jesse said, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just th’decent thing t’--”

“Take the compliment, McCree.” When Jesse snapped his gaze to Hanzo in surprise, he was doubly surprised to see Hanzo with a small grin. “I do not give them lightly.”

Jesse nodded, only a little dumbstruck. It was true; in his time with Hanzo, he’d never once heard the guy compliment anything, really -- unless it was an inanimate object. For Hanzo’s first “real” compliment to be directed towards _him_...okay, it flustered Jesse more than a little. He knew it shouldn’t’ve, but it did.

“Alright,” Jesse finally said once the shock wore off. He gave Hanzo a broad grin to try and hide his fluster. “Thank ya kindly, then.”

Hanzo nodded and said, “If that was all….”

Jesse waved him away as he turned back to his pot. “Yeah -- go ahead. Thanks f’yer time.”

Ultimately, Jesse was glad he asked about the candle thing, but he still felt bad about how mean he’d been to Hanzo. He was doubly worried about how Hanzo just took it, though; after spending this much time together, the guy could’ve easily done some serious damage to Jesse if he’d wanted. He must’ve been used to that sort of thing if he’d just laid down and taken it. Jesse hadn’t expected much from other demons to begin with, but that unsettled him.

Still -- Jesse was grateful Hanzo answered, and he figured he could ask other things about Hanzo, too. It’s only natural to want to get to know the demon you’re living with, right? After Hanzo saved Jesse’s skin a few (more) times, Jesse thought to ask about Hanzo’s vendetta. There had to have been some sort of reasoning behind it, and Jesse was curious.

They were sitting out back, a month after the candle conversation, when Jesse finally worked up the nerve to ask about it. Not in the garden, though; they were well away from the house, a small campfire between the two of them. Jesse was leaning back on his hands, staring up at the stars, as he figured out a way to phrase his question.

“So…” he started. He tightened his fingers around his mug in nerves; it was still half-full with coffee, but he’d since stopped sipping from it.

Hanzo grunted in acknowledgement, but he didn’t say anything. Well, Jesse wasn’t expecting much from that, anyway.

“Can I ask about somethin’?” Jesse finally said, drawing his gaze down to Hanzo instead.

“Just ask your questions,” Hanzo answered. “You don’t need my permission. If I don’t wish to answer, I won’t.”

“Oh.” Jesse opened his mouth, closed it, spoke again. “Thanks?”

Hanzo gave a quiet, amused huff. “What is your question?”

“Well--” Jesse hesitated. Dammit, Hanzo threw him off. “It’s just...I’m curious. About your, y’know, vendetta. Was wonderin’ ‘bout the context, ‘sall.”

Hanzo stilled, and despite the low light, his gaze was sharp on Jesse. “You’re curious about _that_?”

Jesse nodded. “Just that we’ve been together for a few weeks now,” he explained. “‘N’ I’m all for helpin’ ya, but I don’t know a darn thing ‘bout who yer huntin’, what they did, none’a that.” When Hanzo didn’t respond right away and only kept staring at Jesse, he rushed to add, “You tellin’ me what’s what or not won’t determine if I help or not -- I’ll still help. I’ll just be _more_ help if I know.”

Hanzo looked from Jesse and into the flames. He was silent for a long time, and Jesse resigned himself to having this mystery stay a mystery. Finally, though, Hanzo said, “His name is Shouta.” His voice coursed with restrained anger at just speaking the name. “He is a tanuki. He has been in Ravensbeak longer than I have. I would not be surprised if he was here before you were.”

“A tanuki?” Jesse echoed. “Those’re just mischief-spirits, though. What’d this guy do t’you?”

Hanzo snorted. “Mischief,” he muttered in scorn. He was silent for a few more beats, then said, “Before I was an aoandon, I was a major demon of the demon army. My--”

“Whoa, hang on,” Jesse said. “Demon _army_? Y’all got one’a those?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “It would be foolish to launch attacks on human settlements with no organization. May I finish?”

“Go ‘head,” Jesse said. “Sorry.”

Hanzo took a moment, probably to recollect his thoughts. “While I was considerably powerful in my own regard, many other demons vied for a position in the command chain of the army. They would do anything to unseat me from my rank, that they might take it. One such demon -- the Widowmaker -- forced my brother and I to flee to Ravensbeak after she--”

“Okay,” Jesse said, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but -- brother? Y’all got those, too?”

Hanzo gave an annoyed sigh. “Yes. We were summoned at the same time, in the same place. Our siblings are bound not by genetics or blood, but by circumstance.”

Jesse nodded. “Okay,” he said, trying not to act too boggled. It was just like him and Fareeha, right? Except...demons. “Go on. Please.”

Hanzo shifted in his seat. “After the Widowmaker attempted to unseat both of us, we fled to Ravensbeak to try and lose her watchful eye.” His voice grew softer and more distant. “Here, however, we found Shouta -- harmless enough at first, but Genji had always been a fan of mischief, and could not resist playing pranks on the humans here, as Shouta did. Neither could ever pass up a chance to cause chaos.

“Shouta did not like the competition -- or he just did not like Genji. Either way, he...feigned as a friend to me. A compatriot.” His mouth twisted, sour with bad memories, and Jesse had the urge to tell him he could stop. “He convinced me that Genji sought to betray me, to kill me, and take my power for his own.

“I was foolhardy and prideful; I believed Shouta, and I could not allow this to pass.” He hesitated, and when he spoke next, Jesse could hear the strain in his voice. “So I acted first. I...killed Genji.”

Hanzo fell silent after that, so Jesse figured now was a better time to bring up any questions he had. “But demons can’t be killed,” he said slowly. “...Right? Not powerful ones like what you two were.”

“There are ways,” Hanzo said quietly, eyes staring sightlessly into the flames. “Methods which are unknown to humans.” He looked up at Jesse. “Demons can destroy other demons. Permanently.”

Jesse frowned further at that. “Oh,” he said quietly. He sat in silence for a second before he said, “Well... _was_ Genji plottin’ against you?”

Hanzo shook his head. “After the deed was done, it did not matter. I stopped caring about the context. I should not have done it. He was my brother; I chose power over him, and I chose wrong.” He looked back down at the flames. “All I can do now is destroy the _vermin_ that convinced me it was the right course of action in the first place.”

“‘N’ after that?” Jesse asked.

“After that…?” Hanzo echoed, voice distant. He stayed silent for a moment, considering, before he said, “I...am not sure. Right now, destroying Shouta is the only thing that matters.”

“Mm,” Jesse hummed. He stayed silent for a minute, digesting all of the information. He didn’t think it’d be a pretty story to begin with, but…. Well, Jesse didn’t wanna judge too harshly. Hanzo seemed full of enough regret and guilt -- he didn’t need Jesse pouring anything on, too. Besides, if people can change, then who’s to say that demons can’t?

“Well,” Jesse said. “Thanks for tellin’ me. We’ll find yer man. Soon, maybe -- so you should get to workin’ on thinkin’ what happens after, huh?”

“Would you still not banish me?” Hanzo asked. “Even once my vendetta was filled and your town safe?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jesse said, a tease in his voice. “I kinda like havin’ y’round. Yer notes in Amari’s books help.”

Hanzo huffed a small laugh. “I thought you hated those.”

“What can I say?” Jesse asked. “They grew on me.”

“And here I thought to stop writing them,” Hanzo said.

“Do what’cha want, sugar,” Jesse said as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Jus’ know they’re appreciated.” He tipped his mug over the fire to let the coffee douse the flames.

“Are you going inside?” Hanzo asked. Jesse nodded, but before he could say anything, Hanzo hummed and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Jesse snorted at the theatrics -- he’d never get over them. “G’night, Hanzo,” he said as he made his way to the house.

“Goodnight, McCree.”

After that night, it felt like a wall between the two lowered, just by a little. They traded more jokes, Hanzo gave more amused huffs, and again, Jesse was glad he’d asked about it. Especially since he was able to keep an eye out for Shouta, though they never saw any signs of a tanuki. If Shouta was still in Ravensbeak, he was doing a damn good job of hiding.

Overall, the few months that Jesse has spent with Hanzo have been...exactly what he needed, actually. He forgets that Amari is gone when he hears somebody else in the house with him. He remembers what it was like to hunt with somebody else watching his back, and how much he missed it. 

He likes gardening with Hanzo’s company, too; Hanzo is curious enough about the material plane to ask about the plants, and Jesse can’t give him all the information he wants, but that’s okay. Hanzo is content to sit amongst the herbs and flowers, and Jesse is content to allow him that. The world feels damn near alright when they’re in the garden together, silent but peaceful.

They’ve got a good thing going, and Jesse likes to think that taking Hanzo with him was one of his better ideas. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever -- especially good things.


End file.
